I hear the soft familiar thud of footsteps, followed by the slosh of hot water filling a canvas water bucket. "Jambo!", Swahili for "Hello," comes the disembodied voice in the dark. "Jambo," I replied. Every morning in the Masai Mara begins at 5:30 am with this friendly wake-up call. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, my desire to stay beneath the cozy warmth of my wool blanket surrenders to my excitement for the coming day. I unzip the flap of my tent and breathe in the cool, crisp air.
I hear the soft familiar thud of footsteps, followed by the slosh of hot water filling a canvas water bucket. "Jambo!", Swahili for "Hello," comes the disembodied voice in the dark. "Jambo," I replied. Every morning in the Masai Mara begins at 5:30 am with this friendly wake-up call. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, my desire to stay beneath the cozy warmth of my wool blanket surrenders to my excitement for the coming day. I unzip the flap of my tent and breathe in the cool, crisp air.
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